


Fish Out of Water

by mythic0wings



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dolphin pod structure, Gen, Language Barrier, Learning to trust, References to Abuse, auction houses, merfolk, shark attack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 17:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4928209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythic0wings/pseuds/mythic0wings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Humans and Merfolk acknowledge each other but do not co-exist as well as they should. When one merman, wounded and grieving, washes up on the shore he ends up at an auction house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fish Out of Water

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for Shark Attacks, it's the italicized scene if you wish to skip it. In this fiction merfolk share characteristics to dolphin societies. I, however, AM NOT an expert and if you feel something needs adjusting please let me know. They also must remain dry for an extended period of time (upwards of thirty minutes, given above-water environment) before gaining legs. 
> 
> With that said I hope you all enjoy this story and I hope to continue writing for it! Comments make me happy and motivated.

_Water churned all around him, thrashing his tail until his flukes strike the shark’s body hard enough to make it let go. Darting away he rams into the side of another shark, tearing it away from his pair-bond; who looked much too limp for his liking. Thumping that shark with his tail for good measure a spike of searing pain radiates up from his earlier bite. Reminding him of its presence as he continued to move in the water. Red clouds the water all around his pair-bond, grabbing his heart in an iron grip, hitching up to his throat. His lungs are burning, praying for breath to come soon but he goes under his pair-bond and wraps an arm around him, his other hand trailing to his pair-bond’s neck. Searching for that life-giving pulse._

_Beating his tail he rushed toward the surface, ice in the pit of his stomach as panic builds. Pulling his pair-bond with him, hanging from his arm like dead weight, he reached out to push a third shark out of the way when the one that bit him earlier careens into him from behind. Its jaws engulfing his hand and forearm, swinging around with its momentum while its teeth ripped loose of its own gums and into his skin. Even as blood floated into the dirtying waters a hollow snap echoed around them, blinding him with a much sharper, white-out inducing pain from his forearm._

_The shark released him so that it could right itself, tail fin lashing in the water and looking to go in for another strike._

_Had not his system already been pumped full of adrenaline Marinel was sure that he would have passed out then and there, with his arm blazing with pain and the muscles in his chest and tail shrieking with the renewed effort to get to the surface._

_Breaking through the water up to his hips he dragged in a lungful of air that was desperately needed. Sinking back up to his shoulders his vision dipped and swayed as if caught in a storm, blurring the pinpricks of stars starting to appear in the distance. Blinking harshly he laid his pair-bond, Magan, against his shoulder. The other’s lips lay barely-parted, he did his best to shake Magan, broken arm useless at his side._

_Magan didn’t feel like he was breathing._

Marinel jerked as ice-cold water struck his face, drawing in a shuddering breath more from the shock of waking that the temperature. Somewhere in the background a human is speaking rapidly, his brain taking a moment to sort through the human language but it isn’t long before he realizes what they’re saying: Numbers. They are being thrown left and right, but otherwise no other voices are adding to the din. What had the humans called this? It was obvious something was being sold, but what?

He opens his mouth to ask, making to sit up before a rough pair of hands grab the handcuffs cinched around his wrists and jerk them up. Leftover pain jolts up his arm at the rough treatment but the break has healed quickly in the past few weeks. Still, fresher bruises across his back and shoulders pulse softly with pain. His tail feels heavy and weak where it lays draped over the chilly floor, soft white spots breaking up the blue-gray of his lower body. The spots cover his upper body as well, softening the tanned tone of his skin. Immediately Marinel shuts his mouth, light-brown eyes dropping to avoid the hardened gaze of the human holding him up. He has no desire to repeat the previous punishment for speaking to them but at the same time he doesn’t want to be left in the dark about the situation.

“You’re up next.” The owner of the hands, a wide, beefy man, tells him shortly. One of the man’s muscle-wrapped arms curling around Marinel’s middle and picking up his upper body.

Marinel prepares to kick as a second pair of arms, then a third, encircle his tail before the metal of the cuffs bite into his wrists. The first man holding him pulling the short chain taut.

“Don’t struggle fish-boy. The crowd doesn’t care how injured their picks are.” He says gruffly before moving forward toward a thin split in the heavy curtains.

Marinel has to take a few deep breaths before he calms down enough to relax but his heart's still racing in his chest, blood pounding in his ears. He does start when luke-warm towels slap against his skin, the contraction of muscles reaching all the way to his flukes and nearly throwing the human closest to them. He gets reward for the reaction by another sharp tug and the arm tightening around his middle. The human remains silent this time, as if he knows Marinel had done it instinctively. Not that he understands the humans. Who, initially, had seemed helpful enough in his recovery but now were not shy about their strikes or biting words.

Quiet from their side of the curtain falls again and with it the dull feeling of loss sinks in Marinel’s belly. His dream tearing at the wound his pair-bond has left behind. The loss of this friend, after having known him since he was born, makes him want to cry and shout and swim so fast that maybe he outstrips his dark feelings. At this point none of those options are open to him, no matter how much he wants them to be.

It’s upon realizing that the towels are damp enough to hold his merfolk body that Marinel knows the crowd he is being walked into are going to attempt to buy him. A realization that only adds to the lump of emotion sitting inside him, this time it’s the sickly sense of dread. Swallowing thickly he turns away as the curtains open, blinking to get use to the new level of light. Those carrying him march forward unproptemped and the human once tossing out numbers like candy has started speaking more directly toward the crowd. Gesturing broadly toward him, and without the curtain between them his voice is all that much louder. A demanding presence on the stage.

“And for our fifth auction up tonight we have an honest-to-goodness merman! Stretching almost nine feet long and weighing in at three hundred sixty-four pounds it is in peak physical condition. We estimate the age around twenty years, well into their species’s sexual maturity.” This man is much thinner than those holding Marinel, but doesn’t even look over as they hang him by the cuffs on an elevated hook that vanishes into the dark ceiling of the building. The man’s eyes never drift to Marinel from his position in front of the wooden stand.

“As you can see, this specimen appears to be modeled after what we call the Atlantic Spotted Dolphin, and is beautiful indeed. Taken in from these very shores all alone by one of our private benefactors we here at the auction house as pleased to note the recovery this creature has made.” The man continues, pressing something on the stand and the crowd’s eyes are drawn to something behind Marinel.

Marinel can hear the man continuing to go on but it’s lost as his shoulders are pushed up to his ears and his tail drapes down into an uncovered pit a water. A couple feet of his tail are submerged in the water, but his flukes have to curl around to fit in. He cranes his head around to see what’s behind him, brows pinching together to discover what has captivated these humans. The sight sends a shiver down his back before he’s turning his head around. They had taken pictures of his wounds? What kind of sick culture were they participating in here?

“With such a speedy recovery from those atrocious injuries who knows what else it’s capable of? Now, let’s get down to business. Bids start at one-hundred thousand, increments of five thousand dollars is the rule.” The man’s voice has lost the all-too-happy tone in exchange for a more serious one, sharp eyes watching the crowd as if to guess who would be the first to bid. A hushed silence falling over the crowd.

Marinel’s jaw clenched, the muscles bunching tightly at the shift in tone. Dollars, what was that supposed to mean?

One hand raises itself above the crowd.

“We have 100,000, do I hear 105,000?” The man starts up, his likeness to a predator sharpening as he leans forward over the stand. Those watchful eyes picking out hands as soon as they popped above the crowd.

Marinel looked up at the cuffs cutting into his wrists as he hung there. How was he supposed to get down? There wasn’t enough room for him to brace himself with his tail and his arms and chest were already tiring from just hanging there. As well as being mostly out of water made his skin itch and the start of a headache building behind his temples. Trapping his lips between his teeth he tightened the muscles in his arms and shoulders in an attempt to lift himself but fatigue kept him from getting very far.

His damp hair stuck to his face, whines of distress sounding in the back of his throat. How long had they kept him like this out of the water? He shouldn’t be so weak, should he? Panic was beginning to trump the other feelings as his eyes flicked from person to person, hoping that someone would look friendly enough to get him down. Not that he would know what a friendly face looked like it seemed, he had ended up being strung up on a hook as if he was some sort of common fish.

Despite the building panic making him fidget in an attempt to release himself his recent dream drifted toward the foreground. Behind closed eyes tears stung his eyes. He had no friends to report him missing, Magan had been left on the shore utterly lifeless. He had been so cold by the time he’d gotten him to the shore so the sharks would quit following them. So cold. He fought the shiver running along his spine and pressed his closed eyes into his arm. Sucking in heavy breaths to regain control over himself, pushing back the tears as best he could.

A harsh slap of wood against wood shocked him away from his spiraling thoughts, craning his head around to look at the man behind the stand. Gesturing toward another human who was withdrawing their hand.

“Sold for 150,000 to bidder number twenty. Whenever you are finished here at the auction please come around to the back to collect your purchase.” The man said, his tone back to being quite chipper for the dark atmosphere of of the building.

Just like that hands were all over Marinel again, the merman starting at their sudden presence but resisting the urge to fight. What did they mean by sold, did they just decide they could own him? Fingers curling in loose fists he looked at each of the three men carrying him away. None of them returned his gaze and once enveloped back in the dark they navigated past where he had woken up previously. Breaths rasping in his throat now he clicked rapidly at them, hoping they tell him where he was being taken.

There was no reaction to Marinel’s questioning clicks, instead he had the sensation of being lifted then falling in quick succession. Water sloshed over his body, prompting him to cough roughly when it splashed up his nose and mouth but felt cool on his skin. It felt more energizing than food would have at any rate. Gasping softly he looked past the glass trapping him in the shallow water to the beefy man from earlier. Whistles and chirps echoing off the transparent planes as the man’s eyes lingered. He was better now, why did they persist in keeping him from the ocean? Did they prefer him to keep his tail over those wobbly human legs?

The large man did not speak to him again, but seemed confused by his sounds; tilting his head to the side to express that feeling. He lingered for nearly a minute before walking away and leaving Marinel alone in the tank.

Marinel’s whines petered out upon the man’s exit, any hope he may have had of an explanation dying in that moment. Sinking down into the tank (they had explained that word clearly enough, at least) he made sure to keep his head above the water line. Curling his tail under the surface and reaching up to grip the edges of the tank. He fit, but barely. Despite the water however, weariness still dragged at him, not helped by his nightmare from earlier or being strung up. He considered resting briefly but quickly dismissed the option. Last time he had drifted off he’d found himself in his strange building and “sold.” So he made himself stay awake, just drifting in the water while trying his best to not think of his current situation. Doing so only caused him further stress and drug painful memories to the surface.

It’s some time later that he is once again ripped from his thoughts, this time by a soft tapping on the glass of the tank. Releasing the sides he slips under the surface and has to fold himself awkwardly to get a better view of his onlooker.

This time the human is rather old but still male, his hand held in the air as if to continue tapping. Having garnered Marinel’s attention he clasps his hands behind his back and a strange smile that doesn’t reach his eyes curls around the man’s lips. This one also seems to be dressed nicer than those who have been moving Marinel around this evening, or the human who had taken care of him.

Unsure of this human Marinel surfaced, looking over the lip of the tank to match the man’s eye level. Remaining upright forces him to rest his tail against the rocky bottom of tank but it is either that or bringing his cuffed hands closer to this man. His attempts at conversation have yet to succeed so far, but what else could he do? The human’s language just twisted itself around in his head and left him at a loss. Squaring his shoulders Marinel whistled high and soft, the pitch wavering with his question. _What is happening?_

The old man’s eyebrows rise softly, curiously, but no words spill from his mouth, only bending at the knee to scoop up a set of folded cloth. Fingers smoothing out the wrinkles in a practiced motion. It takes a moment before he actually speaks, “Are these intended for you?” With his words he lifts the cloth bundle toward Marinel. Contrasting to the other humans though, is that his voice is rather soft if raspy.

Tilting his head to the side Marinel eyes the bundle, only able to shrug his shoulders. That is one thing that correlates between their species it seems, that motion. He can guess that those are what every human in here is wearing (at least similar to) but if they’re for him, he doesn’t know. The raspy note of the old human’s tone concerns him, is he in need of water? How much water do humans need anyway?

Foot steps approach from deeper in the building and both Marinel and the old man turn toward them. It’s the three from before, the ones who have been carrying him the whole time. Still in the lead is the beefy man and in his hands is a larger bundle of cloth slowly dripping onto the floor. Face scrunching in distaste Marinel shifts away in the tank, not too keen on being moved yet again. They hadn’t done this to him when he was injured, why now?

The old man though tucks his bundle under his arm, having a much better understanding of what is happening than the merman. “I will bring my vehicle around then.” He said simply, turning and leaving.

Marinel watches the old man leave, only turning away for a moment. That moment is all they need for the beefy man to reach into the tank and grab him under the armpits. Hoisting him out of the water while at the same time spilling it all over the floor. From Marinel’s mouth erupts loud and panicked chirps and whistles, his tail thrashing powerfully inside the tank. He feels his dorsal fin scrap the side of the tank before clearing it, and while not painful, the feeling isn’t welcome either. There’s a moment when he’s tossed up slightly before those large arms are wrapped around his middle and right under where his dorsal fin stops. He can feel the muscles tremble as he’s lifted out of the water, then lowered to where the other two are unfolding the cloth. His tail slides over the rim of the tank but by then he’s stopped thrashing, instead resting passive in the large man’s. Out of the water he wasn’t going to get far anyway.

He was lain over the damp cloth which they then proceeded to wrap around him, covering the entirety of his tail and some of his torso. None of the three made to uncuff him, just lifting his heavy form off the floor and off to his next destination. Wherever that was he was sure it wasn’t home. No one would take him home. To his surprise though, they did take him outside, where the cool air nipped at his bared skin, a playful bite he used to feel when jumping with the waves. Remembering such only brings on a sense of melancholy he isn’t interested in indulging right now. So he chooses to focus on the wide, dark-red metal box that the old man from before is standing beside. Two of the panels on it are open wide and inside Marinel can see more cloth spread out over the bottom. What is with humans and cloth? Do they die without it?

The old man continues to stay off to the side while those holding Marinel maneuver both themselves and him into the van. They set him down on the cloth but don’t remove the wet one from around him, which truthfully feels a little suffocating. But it is keeping him damp and he is thankful to not go through the process of gaining human legs again. Recalling that pain sends a full-body shiver him but then darkness settles as those once-open metal panels slam shut behind him. Propping himself up on his elbows he looks out the glass that breaks up the metal walls but none give him a very good view of anything outside. Twisting around he notices some sort of wall in front of him; this too is covered in cloth. This cloth isn’t as soft though. Itchy against his palm as he touches it. Knuckles just brushing against the tight fibers.

Whistling low in his throat he grabs the top of the wall and lifts himself to look over it, clicking and chirping when he notices yet another human (there sure were a lot) sitting against one these walls but a thinner one. This human whirls around like Marinel’s vocalizations startled them but just as quickly turns away to talk through one of the glass panes. Marinel lets out a soft whine and sinks down onto the softer cloth. Careful not to shift so much he disturbs the wet cloth wrapped around him. So much has happened and yet he understands very little of actually occurred around him, _to_ him even.

Mind and body heavy Marinel listens as more panels open and shut, sitting up when some sort of creature roars to life all around him. High-pitched chirps and clicks fill the space, competing with the loud creature that suddeningly surrounded him. It seemed his warning wasn’t needed as whatever made the noise quieted (it didn’t leave however) and nothing tried to attack him. Not yet at least.

With a soft lurch the metal box/monster started forward, causing another wave of dizziness to wash over him. As much as the humans had been keeping him wet enough to retain his tail that had been the end of their care. His stomach twists in response to the lack of food while the itchiness returned to any skin not covered by the cloth. Slumping onto the floor of the metal beast he just allows himself to breath. The beginnings of nausea ride behind the short stabs of pain to his stomach. Without a way to communicate properly he can hope that the old human bothered to find out when he last ate. Each beat of his heart feels heavy in his chest, weighing on him just as his limbs feel like stone.

So worn down already he lets the motion of the metal box just wash over him. Unsure if he felt safe enough to actually fall asleep in the company of humans again. Whatever path they are taking feels smooth, and he’s glad for it. Any extra motion and he feels he might be physically ill no matter the emptiness of his stomach. Haltingly his eyes fall closed, only submitting him to a deeper darkness than the inside of the moving box. The drag of fatigue sinking its hooks into him and pulling him under into sleep. Even his discomfort insufficient to keep him awake.


End file.
